wish
by outside the crayon box
Summary: pick a star, any star, and make a little wish. who needs candles when you have the sky? *for nala [deanwinchesters] for the coppertone wars forum anniversary exchange!*


**for the coppertone wars forum anniversary exchange. :)**

**dedication - the hilarious, beautiful, talented nalanda (deanwinchesters)**

**prompts - fighting demons (internal or external), "kiss me hard before you go," bouquet of dead roses, "burn everything you love, then burn the ashes."**

**pairing - fourtris**

**word count - 1,835**

**notes - au, set after allegiant. tris and her family have not died, and the faction system has been restored.**

* * *

_pick a star, any star,  
and make a little wish.  
(who needs candles when you have the sky?)_

.

.

...

Beatrice Prior wishes she could return to Abnegation. 

She's been dreaming of her family, remembering the small inconsequential things as though they make the difference between life and death: her mother, with her wispy blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun; her father, stern and caring; her brother, who, even though he was a traitor, had always been there for her when she needed advice.

And no matter what, they would always be hers.

She runs her nails over the three ravens trailing over her collarbone, poised in flight toward her heart. A palpable pain runs from her fingertips down into her stomach, and her eyes water.

Birds can't replace her family.

A raw sigh escapes her mouth as she turns over in bed, her heart pounding, rising in her throat. She yearns for them, with a desperate ache, made worse by the fact that she won't be able to satiate it. The factions are just as strict, if not more, than they were before she ventured outside of Chicago, and any attempt to visit her parents and brother will absolutely result in trial, and possibly render her factionless.

But she wants to see them. She has to see them.

She takes a deep breath and focuses on logic. If she's learned one thing from her time in Dauntless, it's that clear thinking in the face of obstacles will get you anywhere.

Who can help her?

Tobias.

Tobias Eaton will help her. He has to.

.

.

...

"Tobias?" she ventures the next day before her session in the simulator.

"Yes?"

"I need help," she whispers.

"Anything," he promises automatically.

"I need you to help me see my family. I-"

"Impossible," he says immediately. "You-"

She shakes her head and swallows. "I know. I do, Tobias. But you have to try. Please. It's not that I want to go back to Abnegation . . ."

It is, though. It _is_.

She desires the monotony, the safety of knowing that you are exactly the same as everyone else, or at least similar enough that differences can't tear you apart from the others. She longs for the feeling of security. She wants her family.

"Is that really all, Tris? You just want to _see _them?" he asks disbelievingly. "I know you better than that. And I know you'll try to stay. And that's not worth it. You can't. It won't work."

"Please stop. I have to. I can't . . ."

"Okay." His fingers linger on her cheek. "Do you still, er-?"

"Sure." With a grin, she lies back, accepting the needle and injecting the serum into her neck, letting herself disappear into the cool blackness, where she can fight her fears and call on her Divergence if things get too tough.

.

.

...

Things are different this time. She's already poised to fight off the crows, to choke down her shrieks and battle with her bare hands. But that's not what happens.

She's facing her old faction. Her mother, her father, and Caleb are at the front of the group, and then come Susan and Robert, then Marcus, then the rest of the Abnegation, clothed in traditional gray. Behind them is a backdrop of square cement houses.

She leans towards them, her hands outstretched, her heart wide open.

And she hits a solid sheet of glass. Her hands bounce backwards from the impact, and she sits down abruptly. Then she cautiously rises and presses against the wall. She can see her family, hear them talking, but she can't go near them. They are separate. They are not one.

And they see her, but they do not care.

"No," she hisses, her heart panging wildly. "Let me, please." She doesn't know who she's talking to, but she prays that she can just get near them. It's the one thing she wants.

"You cannot reach them, Tris Prior," declares an echoing voice from behind her.

"I can!" she screams, pounding on the wall, yelling herself hoarse. "I can!"

"You made your choice, Tris Prior. You have made your choice. You are Dauntless, and you must accept it."

"I can see them!" she insists. "I can! I _can_!"

"You can't."

_"I can!"_

"You can't. They are not yours anymore. Faction before blood."

_"They're my family!"_

"Faction before blood."

She cries, artificial tears that dry before they hit the ground beneath her feet. "Please, let me see them. I can't be separated like this. I can't be. Please. _Please._"

"Faction before blood. Faction before blood."

The phrase pounds against her temples, and she collapses into herself. "Please."

"Faction before blood."

.

.

...

"I took you out of the simulation," is the next thing she hears.

She opens her eyes, blinking her lashes away. "What? Why?"

"You were convulsing. Weeping and choking. I didn't think it was safe for you to remain trapped inside your fears."

"I couldn't-"

Tobias wraps his strong arms around her, wresting his hands against her belly as she sobs. "You can tell me," he murmurs into her ear, his breath warming her cheeks.

"I couldn't reach them. My family. They didn't-"

"That's the usual simulation when transfers begin to have second thoughts," he explains. "You miss your family. But even if you do see them, nothing will be the same. You've changed. So have they."

"I have to go, Tobias." She swallows the salty bile in her mouth and kisses him gently. "See things my way, please."

"I already said I'll help. I just don't think . . ."

She could finish his sentence in her sleep. He doesn't think it will be worth it.

She will prove him wrong.

.

.

...

They spend a night in his room. It's full of flushed skin and tangled limbs and frenzied kisses and passion. It's the last thing that will be only theirs, and they are determined to hold onto it, to cherish it forever.

But nothing can last for a lifetime.

Lights snap on in the corridor.

"Kiss me hard before you go," he moans.

Her lips crash onto his.

.

.

...

She leaves a beautiful vase of fresh flowers just inside his threshold, with a note: **Thank you. I love you.**

But to him, it's just a bouquet of dead roses, because she's gone.

* * *

Tobias Eaton wishes he could have kept her from leaving.

It's been four days since she left, four days without any sign of her whereabouts. For all he knows, she could be dead in the street, shot down by Dauntless guns, and he'd be none the wiser for the rest of his life.

The thought fills him with pain, so intense and whole that he has to clench his teeth and tense his muscles, fighting against the torture.

.

.

...

He treads lightly on his feet as he makes his way through the uneven hallways, up over the rushing water. There, he rests his elbows on the railing and stares down into the abyss.

With a small smile on his face, he can recall rescuing the small blonde girl from those three boys during Initiation. He remembers telling her to be weak, to disguise herself, so that they wouldn't feel threatened.

He bites his lip so tears don't fall. After all, what would a room full of working Dauntless do if they saw their leader crying above the water?

They'd push him in, that's what they'd do.

With a bitter laugh, he hurries down to the Pit and joins in with the nearest crew, who are laughing about a close encounter with some knives yesterday and teasing each other with sharp daggers. Then their conversation turns to Tris Prior.

"Where do you think she's gone, anyway?" asks one of the men, a brawny guy with a manic look in his eyes.

"Probably skipped out on Four. Lying low with some other guy," the youngest one, a boy, really, scoffs nasally.

"She would never skip out on me," he says in a deadly voice, then clamps his hand on the kid's shoulder and twists, leaving before he can see the damage he's done.

What's _wrong _with him?

.

.

...

That night, when he closes his eyes, the first thing he sees is Tris's smile. Her pale blue eyes glimmer as she grins, teasing him, kissing him, shooting an arrow, concentrating. He sees the ravens on her chest, her legs in a skirt, her toenails painted black. He needs her back, needs to feel her caresses, her love.

She's not here, and he needs her. He _needs _her.

.

.

...

After long hours of fitful tossing and turning, he rises and seeks out Tori. For some reason, the tattoo artist always made him feel better when he was down, and if anyone can aid him now, it would be her.

"Tori?" he gasps out as he enters the back room of the tattoo parlor.

"Tris," she says instantly. "You know where she's gone, and you want her back. Sorry, I can't help you, Four."

"Why?" He knows he sounds like a whiny brat, but he can't help himself.

He needs Tris. Tris, with her blonde locks and easy laugh and deft hands. Tris, the girl he loves.

"If she left you, then she doesn't deserve you," Tori says.

But she does. She deserved more than him. Yet she picked him.

"She doesn't deserve you." Tori speaks more firmly this time.

"She did what she believed in. She did something for herself. I support that. She didn't just up and leave me."

"But, whatever she did, she's gone. You need to understand that, Four."

"I miss her, Tori, okay? I miss her."

"You need major cleansing. Burn everything you love, Four, then burn the ashes. Get rid of Tris Prior. Tris Prior, from here on, doesn't exist and has never existed."

.

.

...

_Burn everything you love, then burn the ashes._

It is his mantra, the one thing he lives by. Each day, one minute at a time, he plods on. But the vase of roses on his nightstand makes it hard to forget. Every time he sees it, he wants to break down. Yet he faithfully waters it, gives it light, lets it live, because, in essence, it's _her,_ and it's the only piece of her he has.

_Burn everything you love, then burn the ashes._

But he can't.


End file.
